


Collateral

by thewhisperingmuse



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Related, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhisperingmuse/pseuds/thewhisperingmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Jim Did Not Understand, and One Time That He Did</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I.

"What is it like not to feel anger, or heartbreak, or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman that gave _birth_ to you?"  


Kirk is wrong. And it is not his fault, for it is a common flaw of all humans to believe Vulcans incapable of feeling, simply because the façade present is one of composed logic. Stoic. But they are wrong. Spock is not incapable of emotion. He feels, but it is on a much deeper level than anything this insolent human could imagine. Spock has read the human’s file, knows that he is certifiably a genius, and rightly so, and yet, even his brilliant mind would never know this. His grief for Amanda is immeasurable and he feels as if it may be the end of him. Amanda is gone, his beloved mother who taught him that one does not have to be a logical shell; because of her, his shame among others is lessened, somehow. He feels but it is too much- Amanda is still gone, his planet is gone, and he is losing control, his emotions threatening to overcome him-  


“Back away from me.”  


Spock’s words are calm but he is on the verge of breaking. It would be easy, so simple, to channel the overwhelming grief he feels into anger and find release in the brutality of physical violence.  


“You feel _nothing_ \- it must not even compute for you-”  


-he cannot let his grief turn to anger. He is the captain of the _Enterprise_ and he is a Vulcan. Logic is control and Spock always prided himself on his logic. Logic… is…  


“-I bet you _never __even _loved_ her-”  
_

And then, quite illogically, Spock realizes that he cannot experience his treacherous emotions at all. His thoughts have been replaced by a gaping void, as vast as that which swallowed his home and brought it to nothing. He finds it difficult to focus, and his vision narrows until he can see naught but the face in front of him, still tinged with pink, a result of the time endured in the subzero temperatures of Delta Vega, and what would be constituted as a satisfied smirk as he broke through Spock’s control.  


Insolent human. _Let his smirk turn to fear as he realizes what he has done._  


His hand grasps Kirk’s throat and squeezes, intent on crushing his life for daring to insinuate that Amanda was nothing to him. The human’s hand claws at his wrist, but it is a wasted effort; Spock’s strength is magnified thrice in comparison and he will not be moved, he is fury and a Vulcan rage that cannot be stopped. There are startled voices around him, and yet he finds that he does not care-  


His mind brushes the other’s and it feels as though something has closed around his chest. His mind is molten gold, warmth and sunlight and filling the void that the loss of Vulcan’s heat has left behind.  


His father’s voice speaks from behind him and he releases the human immediately. But had he not spoken, Spock would have let go in that same moment. This… this human is like a sun to his aching mind and he does not wish to let go, but he does. He steps back, his eyes fixed on his hand, which had moments before been wrapped around Kirk’s throat, and it reminds him of his failure.  


He lets his hand fall to his side.  


Spock breathes slowly. It registers, as his abnormally rapid heartbeat slows, that his body is trembling. He brings himself under control in a split second, irritated that- _no, not irritated, you are a Vulcan_ \- noting that he is lacking severely in bodily discipline. That would, of course, be healed by meditation. And he needs to meditate, perhaps more than anything. His shields have been torn to pieces. He is a danger to every human aboard the _Enterprise_ and he cannot afford to lose control in this manner again. Spock is a pacifist, and yet nearly killed Kirk. Perhaps the other Vulcan children that taunted him in his childhood were correct. Perhaps he is imperfect; perhaps his half-human lineage puts him at a disadvantage. Perhaps he will never truly become the emotionless being that he strives to be. His emotions have already shown themselves to be his downfall.  


_He has human eyes. They look sad, don’t they?_   


“I have been… emotionally compromised…”  


Were it not for logic, his emotions- and that of every Vulcan- would be the end of him.  


And he- _Jim_ \- still does not understand.

 

II.

“What the hell’d you take?”  


Spock stands in the middle of the _Enterprise_ ’s Shuttle One, listening to the tiny voice coming out of the speaker. Dr. McCoy and the Captain are the surface of Nibiru in an attempt at First Contact, currently en route away from the natives that insistently pursue them. Prior to the altercation, Spock had predicted a 63.18% chance that the Captain’s fumbling diplomatic skills would render the mission unsuccessful, and he was proved correct. He holds the Captain in the highest regard and feels he is fully capable on the bridge, but has noticed his startling predilection for engaging in an otherwise avoidable conflict.  


The doctor appears rather irritated, but Spock has noticed his proclivity for that emotion when the Captain is involved. Perhaps it is in relation to their shared past at the Starfleet Academy. He shrugs it away as the Captain’s voice patches through, nearly breathless from exertion.  


“I have no idea, but they were bowing to it-”  


There is nothing but panting as the pair sprints through the tangle of trees, similar to the Terran species of birch. And then the Captain’s voice comes through stronger as he opens his communicator.  


“Kirk to Shuttle One-”  


-static renders his voice unrecognizable for a moment-  


“-out of the kill zone. You’re clear, I repeat- Spock, get in there and neutralize the volcano, let’s get out of here-”  


The speaker cuts out for several moments, but Spock does not feel a sense of worry. That would be highly illogical, given the circumstances. He trusts the doctor- however much his general demeanor is unbecoming of his profession and however questionable the notion may be- to keep his- _the_ Captain safe.  


“We’ve got to do this now!” Helmsman Sulu sets the shuttle on autopilot and unbuckles his seatbelt, darting back to the main hold of the shuttle. “I told the Captain, this shuttle wasn’t built for this kind of heat.”  


“Captain-” Spock says as Lieutenant Uhura darts around him, putting the finishing touches on the suit built to protect him from the heat of the volcano. “-did the indigenous life forms see you?”  


The communication system is on-line once more, though the Captain’s voice is shot through with static as he answers.  


“No, Mr. Spock, they did not.”  


“The Prime Directive clearly states that there can be no interference with the internal development of alien civilization-” This is a fact that the Captain certainly knows, but has a startling tendency to forget. Lieutenant Uhura pauses for a moment and smiles affectionately at him, although he is uncertain as to why his words merit such a reaction.  


“I know what it says, which is why I’m running through the jungle, wearing a disguise. Now drop off your super ice cube, and let’s go! Kirk out.”  


Lieutenant Uhura finishes, whispers ‘Good luck’, and backs away as Spock opens the titanium briefcase containing his cold fusion device. Helmsman Sulu shouts in the background that “we’ve got to do this now”, a fact that he has mentioned twice in the past 2.4 minutes. “Ash is killing our coils,” he mutters as he slides back into the pilot’s seat.  
Lieutenant Uhura steps forward once more, securing his helmet in place. Were he human, Spock might have felt a sense of panic as the glass closed over his head, rending the supply of oxygen to his brain at a level near zero in the slight second before the respiration system began. But he is a Vulcan, and panic is an emotion that he will not allow himself to feel.  
“You sure you don’t want me to go instead?”  


Lieutenant Uhura is evidently worried, although he cannot determine the reasoning behind the emotional display. He has already calculated the likelihood of the plan’s success within the first five minutes at 83.27%. The remaining 16.73% is due to the atmosphere inside of the volcano. But Spock remains certain that the plan will succeed, and cannot discern any flaws.  


“That would be highly illogical, as I am already outfitted-”  


“Spock,” she says, looking over at him with a fond smile. “I was kidding.” She presses a kiss to the glass in an approximation of where his lips would be, had he not been currently wearing the helmet. “You got this.”  


“Guys! We have to go, _now_!”  


“I’ll see you in ninety seconds.” And then Uhura is gone, retreating to her seat beside Helsman Sulu. She clips a small device to her ear that will function as both a speaker and a mouthpiece, a means of contact between the shuttle and himself.  


Spock reaches out and attaches a line to the heat-resistant suit he wears. The floor of the small aircraft opens up beneath him and then he is falling, a curious sensation of weightlessness settling in his stomach. He descends swiftly through the air; only 4.7 seconds pass before his feet touch the unstable, igneous surface inside of the volcano. His hand touches the ground to steady himself, and a rapid conversation begins between himself, Helmsman Sulu, and Lieutenant Uhura. They wish to pull him back up, but he must detonate the device by hand.  


“I can’t maintain this position- Spock, I gotta pull you back up-”  


“Negative. It is our only chance to save the species. If this volcano erupts, the planet dies.”  


It is then that the cable connecting him to the aircraft snaps, leaving him stranded inside of the volcano. But he does not- cannot- panic.  


“Spock, are you okay?” Lieutenant Uhura’s voice is clearly panicked, on the other hand. “I am, surprisingly, alive. Stand by.”  


Spock methodically opens the case and activates the device. His knees ache from the pressure of the hard ground, but it does not bother him to an extreme degree. He ignores completely the steadily increasing activity of the volcano, trusting that the metal suit will be sufficient in preventing his person from becoming inflamed. Every breath he draws is ragged, clouded with ash and smoke that coats his lungs.  


He works in a manic frenzy, the next few, critical moments passing in snippets-  


-The countdown (3.00 minutes) begins as the volcanic activity hits a peak-  


-The aircraft is unable to rescue him-  


-The _Enterprise_ is entirely unable to beam him aboard without revealing the ship to the native inhabitants of the planet, something that the Prime Directive and Starfleet expressly prohibits-  


-And so Spock resigns himself to his own death. Were he human, he might feel fear at his impending doom, but he feels nothing at all. It is fitting, perhaps, that he is to die here, in the fiery heat that could rival even Vulcan’s sun….  


-He closes his eyes-  


-A mildly irritating tingle travels throughout his appendages, and then he finds he has appeared in the transporter room, unharmed aboard the _Enterprise_. He stands rather unsteadily, and he does not understand why- and how- he is here.  


“Spock!”  


The Captain bursts into the transporter room, Dr. McCoy trailing closely behind and frowning (a fact that is not out of the ordinary aboard the _Enterprise_ ). He is breathing hard, evidently having run across the ship, but he appears relieved that Spock has returned to the ship, a relief so strong that is almost curious. He has not bothered to change out of his silver and blue wetsuit, which lends his eyes a startling blue color. It does not escape his notice; nor does the puddle of water on the floor beneath the Captain’s feet.  


“You alright?”  


“Captain. You let them see our ship.”  


Spock receives a strange look, one that he has begun to categorize as the Captain’s ‘Spock, you idiot’ face (having heard the sentiment expressed on multiple occasions in conjunction with the particular expression), and the Captain appears as though he might laugh.  


“He’s fine,” the doctor interjects, the lines of his frown deepening.  


_“Bridge to Captain Kirk.”_   


The Captain turns towards the speaker programmed into the room’s control panel. ”Yes, Lieutenant?”  


_“Is Commander Spock on board, sir?”_   


“Safely and soundly.”  


There is a soft sigh, one that would be hardly audible to human ears. Spock immediately categorizes it as relief. _“Please inform him that his device has successfully detonated.”_ And then there is another sharp sound, one not easily recognizable. He thinks the Lieutenant may have thrown her headset onto the ground, an exceedingly illogical display only a human would be capable of.  


“You hear that?” the Captain says, turning back to look at Spock, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Congratulations, Spock. You just saved the world.”  


Spock is, illogically, satisfied that his hydro-fusion detonator has worked successfully, but does not understand why the Captain congratulates him in such a manner. Furthermore, the Captain does not appear to understand the implications of what he has done.  


“You violated the Prime Directive.” Spock is and always has been strongly against any display of emotion, but he attempts now to use his tone to indicate to the Captain the gravity of the current situation. But given that he does not normally partake of this particular manner of speech, it proves ineffective.  


“Ah, c’mon, Spock, they saw us, big deal!”  


However, it is a ‘big deal’, as the Captain does not see fit to realize. He imagines that Starfleet will be quite displeased when he submits his mission report, and the Captain his. The violation of the Prime Directive is an extraordinarily serious matter, and yet, the Captain does not seem to understand this- he does not seem to understand that Spock’s life is something he was prepared to risk in order to ensure the success of his mission.  


The Captain does not understand. Spock was born underneath the burning desert sun. His death would feel like going home, when ‘home’ was something he would never see again.

 

III.

“-warp core back online-”  


“-Mr. Spock, altitude stabilizing-”  


“-it’s a miracle!”  


The voices of the bridge crew are no less than ecstatic, and perhaps this is the correct display of human emotion, given that seconds previously, the _Enterprise_ was plunging rapidly towards the surface of Earth with the warp core out of alignment. Spock knows that even a ‘miracle’ (an entirely illogical human notion that is grounded in a belief in luck versus scientific evidence) could not be responsible for such an event.  


“There are no such things,” Spock replies, as he unbuckles the straps fastening him to his seat, and his eyebrow furrows in the only emotional display he will allow himself. Repairing the warp core in such a manner would be a highly dangerous, fatal, and absolutely manual task. Furthermore, it requires a sufficient knowledge of the inner workings of the _Enterprise_ , and there are few persons aboard the ship with said knowledge- himself, of course; Mr. Scott, certainly-  


Mr. Scott’s voice patches through the tiny microphone affixed to the Captain’s chair  


“Engineering to Bridge. Mr. Spock.”  


“Mr. Scott…?”  


“Sir… you’d be’er get down here. Be’er hurry.”  


-and suddenly, Spock knows what he will find.  


He abandons his post without a second thought, moving at a reckless pace throughout the ship.  


_Please, do not be-_   


He arrives in Engineering in minutes and is greeted by a silent Mr. Scott. The man does not say a word, simply shakes his head. _No, please-_  


“Open it.”  


And Mr. Scott does naught but shake his head once more. He looks as though the words he speaks are killing him despite their veracity. “The decontamination process is not complete, you’ll flood the ‘hole compartment. Th’ door’s locked, sir.”  


Spock turns away, cannot bear to listen to the Scotsman any longer, because he needs a solution, there must be a solution, he _knows_ there must be a way as he kneels down in front of the radiation chamber, looks in to see his captain leaning heavily against the wall as he reaches up to close the front compartment. Jim is panting but he is breathing, still breathing, _please keep breathing_. His eyes meet Spock’s and he looks wretched but he is still beautiful.  


“How’s…” It takes significant effort for him to speak, and when he does, it is soft and breathless. “…how’s our ship?”  


“Out of danger. You saved the crew.”  


“You… you used what he wanted against him.” His head nods slowly and he nearly smiles, a commemoration of Spock’s actions (when he is the one whose actions took bravery and will cost him his- _no-_ ). “That’s a nice move.”  


“It is what you would have done.” His crazy, beautiful, illogical Captain- nearly every command he gives is driven on intuition, and yet, he has never lost a crewmember, not until-  


“And this…” Jim can barely look at him, he has weakened so. “This is what you would’ve done. It’s only… logical…”  


_No, Jim, please do not use logic to justify what you have done. Not if it means your life (and it hurts Spock to think it but he knows it is true, and denial will serve little purpose). It is my way and you are not me, and I do not wish you to be._   


“I’m scared, Spock. Help me not to be… How do you choose not to feel?”  


_Jim. Please, Jim. Do not look at me like that. How can you ask me this?_   


Jim is life and Jim is feeling and Jim is the sun. Jim is illogical and brilliant and he is every emotion that Spock will not allow himself to feel. They are polar opposites, but Spock knows this is why they are an efficient command team. Spock is a Vulcan, and his entire being revolves around the suppression of emotion. Compared to a human ( _to Jim_ ) he is a hollow being, filled with naught but a logical recitation of facts. And yet, this is incorrect. He is not hollow; he was born to a world that valued cold logic. Without his mother (and thinking of her now does not bring as much pain as it might have, not faced with the pain he feels at he gazes upon Jim), it is probable that he would have been more successful as a Vulcan, and not succumbed to such a display of emotion as in his childhood, and on the bridge previously. Even so, in spending more time with his captain, Spock finds that he is not ashamed. If there is anything Jim has taught him, it is that his emotions are not taboo. He is not an outcast simply because he feels.  


And Jim… Jim, the youngest Captain in the history of Starfleet, the man who was ‘dared to do better’ and followed through, the ridiculous, illogical, brave human who dared challenge a Vulcan, is afraid and admits it. Spock knows exactly what he feels. In Admiral Pike’s last moments, Spock’s fingers pressed against his meld points and he was flooded with emotion, more than he wished to name at the moment but underlined by a deep sadness. It is a clear- if unpleasant- memory. Spock _felt_ his death, felt the torrent of emotions dissolve into nothing at all. He knows exactly what Jim feels but he wishes he did not, not when he is unable to ease his state of mind.  


He wants… Perhaps wanting is illogical, and he knows this even as his fingers lift and press against the glass that separates them, but he does not care. Spock knows exactly what he wants, and it is to comfort Jim, to ease his pain and to keep him alive, for his spectrum of being is much darker without the sun. But he cannot do any of these things. He cannot comfort his Jim, and it hurts- _he_ hurts, and for perhaps the first time, he feels and he does not suppress it and he is not ashamed. How can he be?  


“I do not know. Right now, I am failing.”  


He is failing and his voice is not steady as he speaks, choked up and emotional and on the verge of tears, a sensation he has never felt before. Spock yearns to touch, to comfort in any way he can. He would meld and take away all of Jim’s pain, take it upon himself so that Jim might be happy again. All he can give are words.  


 _Do not ask me how. I did not make the choice to live as I do, and if I could, I would not wish you to do the same._  
Jim is nothing without the emotions that he proudly wears, and Spock does not expect him to be anything less. He does not _want_ him to be anything less. Were he any less, he would not be Jim Kirk.  


 _Jim. How can I make you understand that I do not want you to be like me?_

 

IV.

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you.”  


Spock is torn between wishing he would not speak, so that he might save his energy (- _that will not be, it must not be, he will not die-_ ), and wanting to hear his voice again (and again, and again, and for the rest of his life).  


“Because you are my friend.”  


And that is the truth, of course. Vulcans do not lie. But even now, after the declaration hangs in the air between them, transcending the glass that keeps them apart, Jim does not- _cannot_ \- understand.  
Spock has been bilingual, more or less, since birth, despite the additional languages he has proved to be proficient in since then. Standard is his work language, but Vulcan remains his native tongue, and he finds no way to translate how he feels into the language Jim can understand. They are friends, but for Spock, the word holds so much more meaning than a human could ever imagine. There is no word for the way he regards Jim in Standard, but he wishes dearly that one might be created just for this selfish purpose.  


Spock did not grow up with friends; he was shunned by his peers because of his heritage and his mother (though he never wished to feel ashamed). It was not until he was assigned to the _Enterprise_ that he began to regard several of the persons he associated with as friends, and that regard, however surprisingly, was returned. But Jim… Spock never expected to become friends with the arrogant cadet who dared to cheat on his exam, never expected to work with him, trust him, want him, love him-  


He wants Jim to understand, but it is too late and he will not understand anything again. Jim- his beloved human- is fading away before his eyes and Spock is helpless, separated by a thin sheet of traitorous glass.  


There is a tear sliding down his cheek and he does not know how it appeared. His hand is pressed against the glass and his fingers are parted as he wishes Jim a long life and prosperity, but that will not happen. He is fading away and moisture pricks the corners of his eyes as his gaze lifts to Spock’s.  


_Please, no. Jim. Do not look at me like that-_   


Jim does not breathe.  


Footsteps grow louder and then come to a stop. Spock recognizes them as Uhura’s from the way she walks and the amount of pressure applied as she takes a step. He does not acknowledge her. He does not acknowledge Scotty, who has remained silent throughout their exchange.  


 _Friend. T’hy’la._ What does it matter now how he refers to Jim? Jim is dead and he never understood what he meant to Spock. 

He never will.  


Spock’s throat is torn raw as the name of man who led to his beloved human’s death rips free from his throat. He is vaguely aware of the rage that floods through him but he does not stop it, he will not stop it. He is illogical but he finds he does not care. Perhaps it is a fitting tribute to his beloved Captain, the most illogical human being to cross his path.

 

V.

_“It’s our only chance to save Kirk.”_   


Helmsman Sulu successfully returns the highly damaged _Enterprise_ to orbit, docking it in Starfleet’s station, and it is clear that every member of the crew begins to breathe easier when he does. Even Spock was uncertain of the odds of the ship’s survival as they began to fall through Earth’s orbit. Repairs to the ship begin almost immediately, headed by Mr. Scott.  


Dr. McCoy, Dr. M’Benga, and several other medical staff take Jim’s body, carefully sealed within a cryotube, in a shuttle bound for Starfleet Headquarters, and the sickbay there (which, Dr. McCoy admits, contains a more complete listing of medical supplies and will aid greatly in the process). Spock insists- _gently suggests_ , as he prefers- on travelling in that same shuttle, despite Dr. McCoy’s immediate refusal.  


The process of transferring Khan’s blood into Jim’s body and bringing him back to life becomes more complicated than the doctor first assumes. Jim is in surgery for 2.33 hours, and Spock is later informed by the doctor that his heart stopped ‘four goddamn times’. He believes that to be an exaggeration, but even so, Spock spends the next two weeks in a constant state of agitation. Dr. McCoy has assured him on thirteen different occasions that Jim is out of danger, and that his vital systems remain stable, but Spock cannot deny his worry. He watched as his beloved Captain died; though he breathes now, Spock will not let himself hope. He is afraid to lose Jim again, and he does not know what he shall do if he does.  


Spock visits Jim’s room every day, staying for hours at a time. Dr. McCoy threatened to inject him with a hypospray if he did not vacate the premises in the next three seconds twice (another exaggeration; he has proven quite fond of those), but he cannot resist. He attempts to meditate in his temporary lodgings at Starfleet Headquarters, but it is an entirely unsuccessful endeavor.  


And then, finally, Jim wakes.  


His eyes open with a shudder and he looks on the edge of panic, brilliant blue eyes darting back and forth. They catch on Dr. McCoy after 8.31 seconds, and Jim’s body clearly relaxes at the sight of his close friend.  


“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. You were barely dead.” Dr. McCoy’s tricorder hovers over Jim’s temple. “It was the transfusion that really took its toll. Out cold for two weeks.”  


Spock waits patiently as Dr. McCoy attends to his patient, fussing with his medical equipment. He has waited two weeks for this precise moment, and is willing to wait several more minutes if it means his Jim will live.  


“Transfusion?” Jim speaks, finally, and his voice is raspy from lack of use, but Spock feels an entirely illogical surge of happiness at hearing him once more.  


“Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice.” Dr. McCoy turns back, a smaller tricorder in his hand that he rests against Jim’s heart for a brief moment.  


“Huh?”  


“Since we caught him, I synthesized the serum from his… ‘super blood’.” Dr. McCoy leans in slightly closer, a frown on his face (but one that might be categorized as fond, rather than irritated). “Tell me, are you feeling homicidal, power-mad, despotic?”  


“No more than usual.” His forehead crinkles (and Spock cannot help himself from finding the gesture endearing). “How’d you catch him?”  


“I didn’t.”  


The corners of Jim’s lips turn up in a minute smile as Spock slowly approaches him. “You saved my life.”  


“Uhura and I had something to do with it too, you know,” Dr. McCoy adds from the opposite side of the biobed, where he is checking Jim’s vitals. His voice is snarky as he speaks to his friend, but Spock has realized at this point that this is his way of caring.  


Jim raises an eyebrow, glancing at him for .43 seconds before turning back to Spock.  


Spock’s voice does not reflect his emotional state, and this fact surprises even him. “You saved my life, Captain, and the lives of the-”  


“Spock, just-” He shakes his head slightly, his expression not exasperation but rather… affection, and Spock cannot help but bask in it. “Thank you.”  


Spock knows that he should reply and mention that thanks are illogical (and of course they are, he has only done his duty to his Captain and to his ship), but this is Jim, and somehow, the rules never seem to apply. And either way, it was more than duty that led him to go after Khan.  


“You are welcome, Jim.”  


It is the first time Spock has called him by his first name, despite this being his preferred way of referring to him in his thoughts. It is not formal, and perhaps it is rude, as he has not been given permission to speak freely. But nothing else feels quite as appropriate, and Spock does not wish it to be any other way. Even if he does not express to Jim his thoughts, Spock hopes that this one, small gesture will be enough.  


It earns a smile rather than a frown at the lack of formality. Dr. McCoy continues to bustle around the room, preparing several hyposprays and nigh on obsessively checking the tricorder readings, as if to ensure that he has not imagined the results on the twelve previous occasions, but Jim’s gaze does not leave Spock’s face, darting around his features as if he has never seen Spock before and is distraught by this.  


 _You saved my life._ Spock cannot stop himself from turning the phrase over continually in his brain, simultaneously drinking in Jim’s wondering expression and feeling utterly undeserving of Jim’s words. He feels… The emotion is difficult to categorize, given how long Spock spent suppressing anything and everything he felt, but he believes it to be guilt, and rightly so.  


Spock knows perfectly well how much Jim’s death affected Dr. McCoy, and knows that he barely slept during the time Jim was in a coma, working feverishly first on the transfusion of Khan’s blood, and then ensuring that his vitals remained relatively stable. His death affected the entire crew, those on the bridge most of all. It was a trying two weeks for the _Enterprise_.  


And as for himself… Jim’s death affected _him_ more than he wished- and knew how- to express. There is a myriad of things that occurred on that day two weeks previously of which he is uncertain whether he will inform Jim in the future.  
Jim does not know of the torrent of emotions that Spock felt when he breathed his last. He does not know that Spock cried, that he screamed, that he was filled with so much emotion that he felt as though he might combust. Jim was the first human that propelled him to such an emotional display (and he will not remember that now, will not remember how easy it was to hurt his human before he knew how beautiful he was), but that was nothing compared to this. His grief for his mother is nothing compared to his grief for his beloved human, his _t’hy’la_.  


Jim does not know of the rage which filled Spock as he died, does not know that Spock was willing to do absolutely anything to avenge his death, including beaming down to the surface of a city that had nearly been destroyed by the _Vengeance_ as it crash-landed and racing heedlessly after Khan. Jim does not know that Spock nearly killed Khan in his anger; he does not know that Lieutenant Uhura is the sole reason Jim now breathes. _It’s our only chance to save Kirk._ Spock nearly killed the single being with the ability to save his Jim. Were Lieutenant Uhura not present, he certainly would have done so. It is shameful and he does not want to admit it, but in time, he believes he might, if for no further reason than to demonstrate to Jim how important he is to Spock.  


“Alright, enough visiting, kid’s gotta sleep sometime.”  


“Bones, I just slept for two weeks!” Jim exclaims.  


“Yeah, well, comas don’t count. You need _real_ sleep, ‘least twelve hours’ worth, or I’ll strap your ass to this bed and you won’t leave for another week.” Dr. McCoy points a hypospray threateningly in Jim’s direction. “Understood, Jimmy?”  


“C’mon, Bones, that’s not fair!” he protests, but he is not mad. “Spock, you’ll take my side, right?” He turns back to Spock, and Spock is so caught off guard by the expression on his face- filled with so many things, happiness and relief most prominently- that he is almost willing to do whatever Jim asks of him.  


“Sleep.” He does not wish to leave, but Jim must rest in order to heal. Spock hesitates for a moment, and then reaches out to touch Jim’s arm. It does not escape his notice that it is the first time they have touched without fabric or glass separating, and he, however illogically, rejoices in it. “I will visit you tomorrow.”  


“Promise?” he asks, and his expression is heartbreakingly beautiful as he looks up at Spock.  


“Always, Jim.”


	2. Chapter 2

VI.

“A Christmas party?” Spock says dubiously. “If I may, I would like to reiterate, once more, your propensity for extremely childish endeavors that remain completely illogical and fail to serve any purpose save for-”  


“-C’mon, Spock, it’ll be fun!” Jim interjects.  


“Yeah, like this five-year mission, right?” Dr. McCoy mutters in the background.  


“Exactly!” Jim’s face lights up in a dazzling smile, and Spock finds it difficult to recall why, exactly, giving Jim what he wants is a less-than-optimal idea. He considers for 1.27 minutes the probable consequences of such an event, and decides that the consequences cannot be that severe so as to detract from Jim continuing to smile in such a manner.  


Spock, in turning back to the conversation, finds the doctor and Jim arguing, an event that is quite common aboard the _Enterprise_ and no longer causes alarm, as perhaps it should. Dr. McCoy frowns as Spock interrupts him, but does not protest.  


“What are the crew’s thoughts on this… Christmas party of yours?”  


Jim shrugs. “I’ll ask around, but I’m sure they’ll love it. Please?” Jim’s expression turns to one that is called, Spock believes, ‘puppy dog eyes’, a sort of pleading gesture intended to ‘pull one’s heartstrings’.  


“If you so desire, Captain, I have found I am unable to stop you.”  


“Great!” Spock notes that of the things which endear him to Jim, his smile is most prominent on the list. The happiness that radiates from him at the confirmation of the activity washes over Spock, and he wonders how he managed for a time without his illogical, brilliant, beautiful sun.  
\----  


The Christmas party is scheduled to take place on the traditional night of the Terran festival. It is fortunate, Spock thinks, that their current mission is more… relaxed than others previously. It is to take place in the most spacious recreational facility aboard the _Enterprise_. Jim placed himself in charge of the decorations, despite his more pressing obligation as Captain of Starfleet’s prize ship, and roped a rather disgruntled Dr. McCoy into assisting him. Spock finds the event illogical and ridiculous, though he will participate in the festivities, if only for his Captain’s sake. If he recalls correctly, Jim’s exact words on the subject were “Gifts optional, Christmas spirit essential”. Spock does not know of this… ‘Christmas spirit’, but he is 86.79% certain it is a strange concept relating to the compulsion to give gifts and celebrate the decreasing temperature and insistent snowfall. More or less.  


He arrives in the recreational facility precisely 2.36 minutes after 1900 hours to a peculiar sight. The normally grayscale room is covered in various shades of red and green, upbeat (and outdated) Terran music plays over the comms system, and a large conifer tree, _Pinaceae pinus_ , stands in the corner adjacent to the door, adorned with a large, glittering star. Spock is, as always, stunned at the amount of effort Jim is willing to put into something that he desires.  


“Remind me never to let Jim take charge of anything ever again,” Lieutenant Uhura groans as she enters the room, just behind Spock.  


“Noted,” Spock says, but he is rather amused by Jim’s efforts, though he would refuse to admit to it.  


“I don’t know if I’m going to enjoy this, but a drink won’t hurt,” the lieutenant says with a sound like a sigh. She makes her way to the makeshift bar set up along one side of the room, sliding behind the counter with ease and reaching for several bottles at once. “Do you want anything, Spock?”  


“I am fine.” He takes a seat in front of the “bar” (a temporary establishment that he is certain is the responsibility of Dr. McCoy) and watches as 6 more members of the crew enter the recreational facility. Lieutenant Uhura sends Ensign Chekov away twice in the 4.92 minutes required to prepare her drink. Spock’s hearing is sufficient that he can discern the majority of their conversation. He thinks Jim would be amused at the ensign’s persistence and multiple attempts to elicit an alcoholic beverage from Lieutenant Uhura.  


She joins Spock when she has finished preparing her drink, and they sit in companionable silence for some time. Their romantic relationship may have been unsuccessful, but Spock still believes the lieutenant to be a fascinating woman, and a friend he is grateful to have.  


Soon after, the Captain enters to multiple loud greetings at once. His eyes meet Spock’s across the room and his grin widens. After 3-point… several… seconds, he looks away to clap Mr. Scott on the back, but Spock finds he cannot take his eyes off of him. Jim is dressed in a well-fitting, dark sweater that does much to enhance the brightness of his eyes and a pair of tan trousers. It is a definite change from his normal uniform, albeit not a bad one. In their time working together, Spock has yet to find his Captain dressed in a way that does not suit him. He wonders if such a thing is possible.  


Jim shakes several hands before crossing the room, a nearly imperceptible bounce in his step as he walks. “Wow, Uhura, you look great!” he says as he approaches their table. He grabs a bottle off of the counter at random and takes a sip. Spock is not entirely sure what he is drinking, and Jim does not seem to care.  


She rolls her eyes. “Good to know, Jim, but flattery isn’t getting you anywhere.”  


“Why, I would never!” He dramatically places a hand to his heart as if offended, though all present know that he is not offended in the slightest and that, on the contrary, he often uses flattery in an attempt to encourage treaties between others and the Federation. “My good woman, may I have this dance?” Jim pulls a ridiculous face and initiates a deep bow that cannot possibly be a comfortable position.  


Spock raises an eyebrow at the wording of that particular statement, as it is far from Jim’s normal pattern of speech. Lieutenant Uhura, on the other hand, simply grins, shakes her head, and follows Jim to the center of the room. They begin an elaborate waltz, one to which neither appears to know the correct steps.  


After 6.49 minutes of watching Jim and Lieutenant Uhura dance, Helmsman Sulu takes the abandoned seat next to Spock. It appears that he is also uninterested in the proceedings, and engages Spock in a brief conversation regarding a project in the botany lab. They are interrupted, however, as a warm body drops itself into the seat beside Spock, lounging back against the table.  


“This is great!” Jim declares, throwing an arm around Spock’s shoulders.  


“Captain,” Spock says carefully, maneuvering himself away from Jim. “Are you intoxicated?”  


“And if I am?” He scowls only for a moment before brightening again. “Nah, not even close. But at least I’m having fun, unlike you two.”  


Helsman Sulu merely shrugs. Spock assumes that he does not intend to offer a response, and gives one of his own. “I am content, Captain, and do not find it necessary to engage in illogical human activities in order to experience… ‘fun’.”  


“ _Jim_ ,” he responds with a long-suffering smile. “Not Captain. We’re not on the bridge, now, are we?”  


“No,” Spock admits. “And in any case, Cap- Jim, you will find that I am content with my current state.”  


“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”  


“An illogical human notion, as my trousers are not actually aflame.”  


Jim rolls his eyes and beckons with two fingers. “Come dance with me, Spock.”  


Spock raises an eyebrow at him. “I do not believe that would be… appropriate, as you are my commanding officer. And furthermore, I do not believe I am familiar with this ‘dance’ in which you desire to participate, particularly if it relates to that which you performed with Lieutenant Uhura a mere 3.12 minutes previously.”  


“You’re telling me you don’t know how to dance?”  


Helmsman Sulu snickers softly and edges off his seat, leaving the two sitting alone at the counter.  


“I believe that is what I said.”  


Jim leans forward, his hand resting on the Vulcan’s arm. “But Spock-”  


“I am fine, Jim.” He stands, straightening his uniform by an imperceptible amount. “I believe I will retire to my quarters at this time.”  


His steps are short and precise as he crosses the room, and there is little effort on the part of the crew to interact with his person. As is customary throughout the _Enterprise_ , he receives several polite nods of acknowledgment. It is nothing like the hearty greeting that Jim receives, and for that, he does not find he is jealous; on the contrary, he finds the thought pleasing. The ship’s crew adores her Captain, and for good reason. Spock is unable to bestow upon Jim the affection he, quite rightly, deserves, and he is glad that in some capacity he receives it.  


He feels Jim watching him, but he does not turn back.  


\----  


Spock moves efficiently around his quarters, retrieving the Vulcan robes, woven mat, and incense burner he requires to meditate. He swiftly changes and lights the incense, inhaling deeply. The heady scent fills his lungs and reminds him of home (and Amanda, and several other things he does not wish to dwell on for the time present). He attempts to organize his thoughts as he kneels on the mat, tucking his feet under his body, but his efforts are unsuccessful. His mind is entirely preoccupied with one Jim Kirk (and that thought is not alarming, as perhaps it should be. If Ambassador Sarek were witness to his current state, Spock is certain he would be rather displeased).  


His thoughts are interrupted by a light knock on the door to his quarters. He experiences a flicker of irritation as he stands fluidly and leans down to blow out the flame. “Come in,” he murmurs, just loud enough that the computer registers his voice. There is a slight click as the door unlocks, and a whoosh as it slides open. A breath of cold air accompanies his visitor, a fact for which he unprepared; he shivers, against his volition, just before the door slides shut once more.  


“You know, if I had known you’d be so offended by being asked to dance, I wouldn’t have asked,” Jim says, leaning against the doorway, a thin box in his hands and an infectious grin on his face. “Can I come in?” But rather than waiting for an answer, he strides in as if perfectly at home (and Spock cannot discern a reason why he should not be; he wishes all that is his to be Jim’s, though he does not ask for it) and sets the box down on Spock’s desk, which is carefully organized, a neat stack of PADDs 1.26 centimeters from the right side. The remaining space is currently occupied by their most recent chess game. Jim won.  


“I did not give any indication that I was offended by your proposal.”  


Jim does not respond to Spock’s statement, his gaze flicking briefly about Spock’s quarters. “You’re really going to meditate now?” Jim says, leaning back on the edge of the desk, his eyes dancing in a way that Spock recognizes as teasing. “You could be the life of the party, you know.”  


Spock raises an eyebrow. “I find that incredibly unlikely. The majority of the _Enterprise_ seems uncomfortable in my presence. And given my current state of dress and the fact that I have a bottle of incense in my possession, a necessity for my meditation, you may surmise my intentions for this evening.”  


“And how _incredibly_ boring those intentions are.”  


“Your opinion does not affect my future actions,” Spock says, but he is tempted to smile. Almost. Jim’s ability to surpass Spock’s logical exterior continues to surprise him, despite the increasing length of time with which they have been acquainted. “Is there something you require?”  


Jim pushes off from the desk, his hand grasping behind him for the box. “Actually, yeah. You left so early, I couldn’t give you your present.” He procures the item in question, finally, and holds it out.  


Spock stares at him for 3.97 seconds longer than is required by social etiquette. “I do not require anything. And furthermore, my research indicates that, in conjunction with such a holiday, it is customary for acquaintances and friends to exchange gifts as a means of demonstrating affection by physical means. I was unaware that such an exchange would take place, and as such, have not prepared an item with which to present you.”  


Jim shrugs. “Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it? I got you something and didn’t expect anything in return.” He all but shoves the box into a bewildered Spock’s hands.  


Spock’s gaze darts from the box, to Jim, and back again. The event is entirely unpremeditated, and yet so very _Jim_ that he finds himself less than startled at the current proceedings. “You are certain of this?”  


“Quite.”  


Spock exhales softly with a sound like a sigh (an emotional response that he would firmly deny, were Jim to confront him about it). “If you so desire, Jim, I will accept this… gift.”  


He looks at the object in his hands and realizes that it is the first time he truly looks at what Jim has handed him. The box is small and rectangular, approximately 18.09 centimeters in width and 3.51 centimeters in height, and covered in an alarmingly patterned wrapping paper, detailing eight artistically rendered (though not necessarily aesthetically pleasing) reindeer harnessed to a strangely shaped red object. Spock declines to comment, and merely raises an eyebrow at his Captain.  


“Don’t look at me like that. It’s festive!”  


“Festive indeed,” Spock says, rather offhandedly, and Jim snorts, a strange sound that is, apparently, generally taken as disguised laughter. Spock finds it rather strange but, like most things associated with his Captain, strangely endearing.  


“No need to be so methodical, it’s not a science experiment. Just open it, silly.”  


Spock does as Jim asks, neatly tearing through the wrapping paper and setting it down on his desk before returning his attentions to the box. He glances at Jim, and the human’s lip is caught between his teeth as he watches Spock’s hands carefully lift the lid off the box and set it, too, aside.  


Nestled inside is a pair of dark gloves. They are beautifully made, with silver embroidery curling around the cuffs. Spock cannot help but reach out and run his fingers over the material; he finds they are pleasing to the touch.  


“I saw you shiver when the door opened, and it’s always hot in your quarters- you must be freezing all the time, hmm?” Jim says by way of explanation. “So you could wear these around the ship if you’re cold, or on shore leave. And I know how delicate your hands are, psionic abilities and all, so I figured if you ever needed to do manual work…” Jim seems to realize he is rambling, and quickly closes his mouth, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. “Go on, try them on.”  


Spock carefully lifts the gloves out of their wrapping and pulls them on, flexing his fingers to determine their efficiency. They fit perfectly, and Jim is correct; they will be useful aboard the _Enterprise_. But these are not an easily replicated item, and he surmises that the only possible time when Jim could have acquired such an object is on their most recent shore leave, 3.81 months prior. The implications of the gift are clear. Jim thinks of him and honestly cares for his well-being, a fact that is more than is expected of one’s commanding officer.  


“As I believe the human expression goes, I do not know what to say.” In truth, Spock is not entirely sure what to think, either.  


“Then don't say anything.” Jim winks, and Spock glances down at his new gloves to conceal the green flush spreading across his cheeks. When his gaze lifts again, Jim has moved much closer, and stands a mere 3.57 meters away. He takes an additional, cautious step forward, and another, until they are much closer than is strictly, and professionally, necessary. They are so close that they breathe the same air, Jim’s breath touching Spock’s face and Spock, quite frankly, not bothering to calculate the distance between them any longer.  


“Spock.” Jim’s voice is a whisper. “Dance with me.”  


“I do not know-”  


“I'll teach you.” He holds out hand. Spock fully intends to decline the offer, to insist that Jim return to his own quarters or to the party at once and leave him to his meditation, but there is something about Jim’s expression as he stands in the middle of Spock’s quarters that stops him- something open, something inviting, something wholly different from any expression he has seen on his beloved human’s face previously.  


And Spock cannot resist.  


It is slow, unlike the ridiculous dance between Jim and Lieutenant Uhura, and it is gentle. Spock learns the simple steps with a quickness that has Jim smiling at him, and they move together smoothly, Jim’s hand on his shoulder, his hand on Jim’s waist, their hands lightly touching.  


After 6.80 minutes, Jim bites his lip again before executing a strange wrist movement that causes Spock to stumble for the first time since they began. He cannot help but stop and stare.  


“Jim, what is the purpose of this gesture?”  


“I was-” He laughs, interrupting his own sentence, and it is so carefree and joyous that Spock does not mind. “-it’s ridiculous, but I was trying to twirl you.”  


An illogical notion, as Spock’s height surpasses his by 3.46 centimeters, but a very ‘Jim’-inspired action all the same (and if that is not a strange phrase, Spock does not know what is).  


Jim’s face is filled with color, flushed slightly as if from cold. But as his quarters are an exact 5.6 degrees above standard _Enterprise_ regulation temperature, Spock knows that the likelihood of such an occurrence is a mere 1.32%. And as such, he surmises that the pink tint in Jim’s face is not from the temperature, but from happiness (he knows this to be a possible explanation from his studies, and said possibility fills him with joy).  


“Do you really need these?” Jim says, plucking at a stray thread at the seam of Spock’s gloves. “If I’m this warm, you must be, too. Surely you’d be… more comfortable?”  


_Jim wants to touch him._  


It cannot be- perhaps Jim desires for the gesture to be platonic, and perhaps his statement is nothing more than a demonstration of his caring nature. It is entirely likely; in fact, given their previous interactions, there is a 75.29% chance that Jim’s statement is for this reason, but Spock cannot help but foolishly, illogically, hope that perhaps…  


“I do not believe that would be wise.” _I am entirely uncertain whether I will be able to regain my mental control if you touch me._  


Jim’s hand stills on his wrist, and Spock swallows once, certain that Jim can feel his pulse behaving erratically. He does not speak until Spock meets his eyes, and they are a brilliant shade of blue, enough to rival the sky on a cloudless Terran day. “If you don’t want me to touch you, just say so.”  


Spock’s gaze falls to his Jim’s hands; he does not speak for several moments, and he does not move, though his strength is three times greater and he is fully capable of doing so.“I- your touch is… not unwelcome.”  


A smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the declaration, and he promptly tugs off both of the gloves, tossing them onto Spock’s desk.  


“Better, isn’t it?” Jim grasps Spock’s hand once again, and his fingers are of a lower temperature than his own, but not uncomfortably so ( _Vulcans do not feel discomfort_ , he reminds himself, but it becomes increasingly more difficult to convince himself of this fact). He smiles and it is meant to be reassuring as he tugs lightly, beginning their dance once more. His thumb strokes softly against the back of Spock’s hand as they repeat the exact steps of moments previously, but this dance is not the same.  


Spock is not entirely certain he can answer coherently, isn’t entirely certain that he understands what it is Jim asked of him (because Jim is touching him, he is _touching him_ , and they are alone, together, and every place their skin meets is a spark of pleasure underneath Spock’s skin). He settles for a brief nod in lieu of a verbal response.  


The hand resting on Spock’s shoulder slides behind his neck and he flinches entirely on instinct as Jim’s cold skin unexpectedly brushes against his, bringing with it a tangle of emotions that he quickly shuts out. He has not been given permission to read Jim’s thoughts, and would not dare intrude on his privacy in such a manner. Spock attempts to reassert his mental control, a challenging endeavor, and calculates a (disheartening, but still workable) success rate of 64.32%. Blunt fingernails scratch along the delicate skin of his neck, the slight friction making him shiver, and he nearly loses his control again. His probable success rate drops to 43.17%.  


“-Jim,” Spock finally manages, when the initial surge of pleasurable sensations lessens minutely. “You must understand that this is- ah, quite intimate for a Vulcan-”  


“I know,” Jim says, even as his thumb ceases its movements, remaining still, a line of pressure and heat branding Spock's skin. “Certified genius, remember?”  


“I remember,” Spock says, and his voice is a whisper of air from between his teeth. He finds it difficult to speak with Jim's fingers curled around his, and he does all that he can to keep himself from reading his thoughts. “You were a memorable cadet.”  


Jim smiles at that and looks down at their twined fingers for 11.51 seconds before speaking again. “Do you truly know why I went back for you?”  


It is incredibly reminiscent of that day, and Spock does not wish to dwell on it, because Jim is here, and touching him, and utterly sincere as he stares up at Spock. It is the same question, but the answer on Spock’s tongue is not the same. It is the same question, but as Jim stares at him, he begins to realize that the expected answer is not the same.  


“Because you are my friend.” _Because you are my t’hy’la._  


“Yes. And no.” Jim presses his lips to the back of Spock’s hand, and his toes curl at the sensation. “It’s much more than that.” He lifts himself up onto his tiptoes, so that his eyes are level with Spock’s.  


“It’s because you are the most fascinating, beautiful, _logical_ being I have ever met, and I couldn’t stand going back to the ship without you by my side.”  


A beat passes, and then Jim is leaning forward and is kissing him with fervor, cupping his face with both hands. A completely undignified noise escapes Spock, happiness made manifest, and he finds that he does not care. He holds Jim tightly against himself and he feels his beloved human melt into his touch. He never wishes to let go; he fears that if he were to do so, Jim would disappear.  


When Jim pulls away to take a breath, Spock is quite certain that he is experiencing multiple symptoms of the human affliction commonly known as shock. He is filled with a joy that he cannot contain, and he does not wish to try. His fingers brushes along Jim’s cheek, his temple, lingering on his meld points, as if he cannot quite believe it is not a dream, and that Jim is here with him.  


“You love me?” Jim says suddenly, and Spock’s hand stills, his voice wary as he speaks.  


“How do you know this?”  


And of all things, Jim _blushes_ , a gorgeous shade of red dusted along his cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I just- I accidentally read your mind, I think, it was just _there_ and it was so strong and I couldn’t help-”  


“Jim.” The single syllable is, thankfully, enough to quiet him. “You have nothing for which to apologize.”  


“But isn’t that a huge violation of your privacy? I know how secretive Vulcans are with their emotions-”  


“Violations of my privacy are not an issue where you are concerned.” Spock leans his forehead against Jim’s for a brief moment, breathing in the scent that is distinctly Jim. “I do, yes.”  


“You idiot,” Jim says fondly, his fingers curling in the short hairs at Spock’s neck. “You should have told me.”  


“An exceedingly illogical endeavor-” The automatic response is worth it as Jim smiles adoringly at him. “-as I remained uncertain of your intentions.”  


Jim shakes his head as if in disbelief, but he cannot seem to stop smiling. “Bones told me everything, you know. Spending two weeks in my room, waiting for me to wake up? And after everything? Spock, you nearly killed someone when I died. How can you let that go?”  


Spock’s mind is suddenly whirling as memories rush past, snatches of conversations, Jim’s voice, _always_ Jim’s voice-  


_Where I come from, when someone saves your life, you don’t stab them in the back-  
_

_I’m gonna miss you-_  


_And this… this is what you would have done-_  


_Do you know why I went back for you-?_  


_Promise-_  


“You’re such an idiot.” Jim grins and kisses him again, more briefly this time, a mere brush of lips and a promise of more. “But I think I love you anyways.”  


“You do?” Spock cannot help but repeat himself. He is quite certain he is still under the influence of shock and how Jim’s fingers feel as they stroke along his. Quite certain, though the exact percentage escapes him.  


“Of course I do. Aren’t you- you’re my- what’s that word?” Jim’s face scrunches as he attempts to remember. “You were thinking it, I saw it.”  


“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Spock’s voice is very soft. “You are my t’hy’la.”  


“Yes, that one. What does it mean?”  


“Everything that you are to me. My dearest friend, my brother, my lover… all of this, and more.”  


Jim smiles again, and Spock basks in the glory of his personal sun, wishing he could feel its warmth ( _love_ ) forever. “Gee, Spock, for a Vulcan, that’s pretty romantic, isn’t it?”  


“I suppose one might say so.”  


“Pretty emotional, too, huh?”  


“Yes. With you, Jim, it appears I am… less than ideal in terms of my emotions.” Spock presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.  


“That’s just unfortunate, because now you’re stuck with emotional me.”  


“I do not believe ‘stuck’ is the word I would choose. Emotions, on the other hand, are easily obtained from your person. I have learned many things from you in the course of our acquaintance.”  


“That so? Why don’t you come over here and show me how emotional you can be?”  


Spock raises an eyebrow. “I am already here, Jim, if it did not escape your notice.”  


“I know, and I’m glad you are,” Jim says, resting his head against Spock’s chest with a contented sigh. “You plan on staying here?” The question is simple, but the implications are not. Spock knows what Jim means, and it is not whether he intends on remaining in his quarters. His fingers lightly stroke through Jim’s hair, and he holds him even tighter in his arms.  


“Always, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! As this is my first Trek fic, I would appreciate any feedback you are willing to give.


End file.
